


properly grown-up

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the one where harry realizes he wants stuff, and then he gets it</p>
            </blockquote>





	properly grown-up

**Author's Note:**

> old!! originally posted on tumblr in dec. 2013 
> 
> come say hello [here](http://www.ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com)!

The thing is, Harry  _loves_  girls. 

Women, he supposes. He can start saying women, now that he’s properly eighteen and he’s actually shagged Caroline Flack. Feels wrong, calling Caroline Flack a girl, when she’s older than him, when she’s proper grown-up and so fucking fit and smart and clever his brain nearly went out his ears the first time they slept together. 

He loves women. He likes the way they smell - both the sweet, lilting musk of perfume and the scent between their thighs. He likes the taste - lipgloss, candy-flavored and too-sweet, and the way his mouth feels and tastes when he licks out a cunt. He likes the way they laugh, he likes long hair and smooth curves and the soft round of breast and bum. He fucking  _loves_  a pair of tits - though he wouldn’t say that, since it makes him sound like a complete arsehole. But he does. Caroline was well fit in that area- in all areas- and he liked to take his time with her, lick and suck at her nipples until she was laughing ticklishly and shuddering all over, then kiss all the way down her flat stomach and between her legs, sucking soft and wet at her clit until she gasped and came and the smell, the taste, was all over him, all around him. 

He’d come away with his mouth wet and full and feel so  _fucking_  good, especially when she let him sink into her straight-after, her cunt hot and slick and fantastic. He’d loved that. He’d loved every second of it- the way their bodies fit together and how she kissed him during, said hoarsely, “That’s lovely, darling, _well_ done, what a good boy you are-“ 

Oh, he quite liked that. 

The point is,  _women_. Harry likes them. He feels secure in saying that. 

That’s why it takes him a bit by surprise, the whole- Nick thing. 

At first he thinks it’s just because he’s liked Nick  _forever_ , and Nick is cool and older and funny. He takes Harry out to restaurants he’s never been and introduces him to loads of new people. Harry loves that feeling, being escorted into a room by the small of his back, having Nick look at him happily when Harry makes a joke. He likes to feel at home in London, he likes the way people laugh at him and say, “Oh, Harry”, like they know him, love him.He likes Nick’s flat, and Nick’s life, and the way he fits right into it, easy and comfortable. 

He thinks that’s it, and then one night he goes over to Nick’s for a party and things go a bit- different. 

Nothing happens straightaway, even. He just gets drunk off vodka tonics - made in Nick’s kitchen with a massive bottle of tonic and a bunch of limes they’d bought at Waitrose. Nick becomes unofficial bartender, somehow, and he stays in the kitchen for most of the night. Harry hovers around him some, under the pretense of refreshing his drink, but really he just likes the way Nick talks. Nick tells these long, moaning stories about his childhood and his twenties and the first time he got pissed and the time in uni he’d had six shots of Aftershock in ten minutes and then sicked up in a potted plant. Harry sits, and drinks, and listens. 

And then he gets a bit more drunk, and he starts  _watching_. 

Nick moves his hands while he talks, which is dangerous when he’s slicing limes with a paring knife. He’s got on a t-shirt with a low v-neck, a sheer white, and Harry can see his nipples through it. Harry can see his nipples, and Nick’s chest hair, and the flat planes of his chest, and that’s alright, that he can see, but the odd thing is he can’t stop  _staring_. 

He’s never had that problem with women. Yes, he loves breasts, but he’s not one to stare at someone’s rack. He can be logical about it. He figures, if he doesn’t stare now and act like a creep, he might actually get to, like,  _touch_  them later. And he’d rather touch than look. 

But he’s drunk, and Nick hasn’t got a rack, so Harry just keeps staring. 

“Another?” he says at one point, tearing his eyes from Nick’s chest, and Nick reaches out for his empty glass, shaking his head fondly. There’s dark hair up the length of his lightly-muscled forearm. Harry’s eyes drag over it, and, completely unbidden, the mental image of Nick’s broad, wide, masculine hands on Harry’s waist pops into his head. Nick would grab him just like  _that_ , his face laughing, his long fingers curling deftly around Harry’s- 

“Oi,” Nick says, snapping those fingers. “My eyes are up here, popstar." 

Harry goes a brilliant red and says, defensively, “Your shirt’s see-through.” 

Hm. Not a great line, Styles. 

"And it deeply offends you, does it?” Nick asks, laughing a little as he drops a lime slice into Harry’s glass. 

“No,” Harry says dumbly. “I mean. No." 

Nick shakes his head and pushes the drink over to him. “There you go. It’s a bit weak, only coz you very obviously don’t need it, you child.” 

"Heyyyy,” Harry says, taking a sip. Nick’s idea of a weak drink is still plenty potent, so he doesn’t complain. 

“You’re  _welcome_ , popstar,” Nick huffs, mock-annoyed, and Harry reaches out, grabs Nick’s hand. Warm, solid. 

"Thanks,” he says, sincere, and Nick flicks his eyes up to Harry’s, unsure, and says, unsteadily, “Cheers, darling. Drink up." 

Harry lets go. 

At the end of the night it’s only a few people still sat around, spread out in Nick’s living room. Harry’s next to Nick, and quite  _quite_  drunk at this point. He has his head in Nick’s lap, and Nick is petting his hair like a cat. Like Harry’s head is a whole cat body, or something. He’s drunk, his similes are struggling. 

_I’m a cat_ , he thinks dizzily, and then tries to bite at Nick’s hand the next time it comes by. Nick snorts, looks down at him. 

"Stop that, you cannibal.” But still, he’s letting Harry nibble at his finger. 

“You taste like lime,” Harry says, and hears a peal of laughter from at least two other party guests. Upside down, Pixie’s face appears over him, and she says, “How ya doin, little Styles?" 

"Nick tastes like lime,” he informs her, slightly muffled, and Nick tugs his hand out of Harry’s mouth, laughing sheepishly. 

“Sorry, vodka makes this one crave human flesh, apparently." 

"I know what kind of flesh he craves,” Aimee says, wiggling her eyebrows, and Nick rolls his eyes, smacks at her. 

Harry just rolls his head down into Nick’s lap and giggles, dizzy. After a moment, Nick’s hand comes down again, strokes Harry’s hair off his forehead. 

“Time for you to sleep, eh?” he says quietly, and Harry reaches up with one hand and gropes at Nick’s chin. It’s stubbly, faint pricks of hair under his fingers. Harry wants- to kiss him there. On his stubbly chin, and his lovely pink mouth. He wants to kiss the patch of chest hair revealed above the line of Nick’s shirt. Feel it under his mouth- 

“Alright, yep, time for bed!” Nick says in a half-squawk, and Harry realizes belatedly that he’s stroking his hand down Nick’s chin to his neck, and then to his chest. He tweaks a nipple and Nick lets out a huff of breath. 

“Gropey popstar,” he says, just a little breathless, his big hand coming up over Harry’s to stop it, clasping it to his chest. “Off to bed you go. Want me to call a taxi?" 

"Nooo,” Harry whines. “Want to sleep here.”

He’s vaguely aware that people are laughing at him, but he’s too drunk to care. Anyway, Nick won’t let him be too embarrassed. Nick always takes care of him. 

Like now. Nick’s dragging him up from the couch, laughing a little. “On two feet, darling,” he says, and Harry stands up, because he’s not actually that drunk. 

Nick lets him go and Harry stumbles into the wall. Well. Maybe he’s a bit impaired. 

“Oh god,” Nick says, grabbing his waist, and then, calling behind him - “Be right back." 

Noooo. Harry doesn’t want to be dropped off like a toddler who falls asleep before midnight on New Years. He wants to get into bed, and he wants Nick to be in bed, and then he wants to suck at Nick’s nipples until they’re hard and then kiss all over his stomach. He bets Nick has, like, hair there. A dark, soft trail down from his navel to his cock. 

His cock! Harry hasn’t even  _thought_  about his cock yet. His stomach does a little swoop of excitement and he grins, suddenly, into the darkness, lets out a little yip of giddy laughter. Cock! 

"What?” Nick says softly, as they make it to Nick’s bedroom and Nick flicks his lamp on. 

“Cock,” Harry says honestly, and Nick snorts. 

“ _What_? Good god, popstar. You’re quite a handful when you’re pissed.” 

“But you like me anyways,” Harry says, quite sure of it, sprawling out on the bed where Nick directs him. 

“God help me, but I do,” Nick says mournfully, a grin lurking at the edge of his mouth. 

“Come here, then,” Harry says impatiently, beckoning him closer. “Good night kiss." 

"Haz,” Nick groans, but he goes, presents his cheek. 

How  _boring_. Harry turns Nick’s cheek with one hand, gently presses a kiss to his mouth. Nick’s lips are full but not slick-soft like a girl’s, and he tastes like vodka and cinnamon chewing gum. Harry feels along the line of Nick’s stubbly jaw with his fingers, feels Nick’s muscles working in the kiss. It’s  _nice_. 

“Harry,” Nick says, drawing back, his voice low and regretful. “Oh, you’re drunk." 

"I won’t be drunk tomorrow,” Harry says, firmly, but with a bit of slur to his voice. “And then I’ll need you to come straight back in and do that again." 

Nick laughs, the sound of it broken. “Harry.” 

"I’m being serious,” Harry says, fisting his hand in Nick’s soft, tissue-paper-thin t-shirt. “Not just drunk, Grimmy." 

"I think it’s the drink, darling." 

"No it’s  _not_ ,” Harry pouts. “Hey. Sleep next to me tonight.” 

Nick’s face goes through a few different emotions- a wince, a laugh, a final little sigh as it settles, resigned. “Harry.” 

Harry’s eyelids are closing, even though he needs to be present, because this is important. Nick’s looking at him tenderly, like maybe Harry is the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and Harry’s bloody falling asleep. 

"Nick,” he says slurred. “Sleep here." 

"Alright, darling,” Nick murmurs, and Harry feels Nick kiss his forehead as he drifts off. 

—

He wakes up slow, shifts just slightly to on his pillow, and his head gets the message that he’s awake and starts a low, steady throb down near the back of his neck.

There’s sunlight shooting hot through the blinds, like it’s midday already, and when Harry turns his head- with difficulty- he sees Nick on the other side of the bed. 

He grins, helplessly. Nick’s tangled up in a knitted blanket and his hair is a mess. He’s clutching a pillow to his chest and still wearing his t-shirt.

Harry wants to kiss him.

But first things first. He gets up, takes a piss, his stomach roiling, and then chugs two cups of water and swirls Listerine around his unbrushed teeth. After two paracetamol and a quick splash of water over his face he feels much more human, and he crawls back into bed next to Nick.

Nick is still sleeping, lines in his forehead soft and pronounced. Harry watches him fondly for a minute, and then picks up his phone, snaps one tiny quick photo.

He’s looking at it, laughing quietly, when a big hand closes over his phone and pulls it down to the bed, Harry’s hand tucked in alongside.

“Not fair, popstar,” Nick groans out, rough with sleep. “No photos without fair warning.”

“Alright, here’s fair warning,” Harry says, and lifts his phone again, snaps another. Nick snorts, grabs for the phone in Harry’s hand and then drags him bodily down to the bed, all sleep-warm and fumbly.  

Harry goes, drops his phone someplace on the floor, ends up on his back with Nick above him, blinking down at him. 

“You feeling alright?” he says, taking his hand off Harry’s face where he’d been stroking, gently, absently. “Bit of a hangover?" 

"Alright,” Harry says, swallowing hard, watching the way Nick’s face moves as he speaks. “You?" 

"Didn’t have too much to drink,” Nick says, smiling. “Couple vodkas and I’m good, me. You’re still sorting through the dangerous world of binge-drinking and drug use, you horrible teenager." 

Harry smacks lazily at his hip, and then- acting on instinct- drags Nick down to lie against him, curling a palm around his back. 

Nick’s face looks like he’s sussed out that Harry’s not just being friendly, that it’s gone past mates-territory. Usually if Harry gets to this point with one of his lads, after wrestling or what-not, they laugh to cover it up. They make a joke. Liam usually flushes a hot red and jerks away, while Niall lets out a cackle and shimmies down against whatever body part he’s up against. 

Harry’s never gone further, not with anyone, not even the time he felt Zayn’s cock tucked hard against his hip and a bolt of curious want had gone straight through him. Zayn had just tugged away, red-faced and laughing sheepishly, and Harry had wanked straight after, shut himself in his bunk and bit his lip to keep from moaning.

But Nick’s not a teenage boy. He’s not  _straight,_ not even supposedly. Nick knows just what he wants, and he knows how to give Harry the things Harry’s thinking about.

Nick looks down at him and says, quietly, “Harry.” 

Harry’s body is starting to fizz up with an anxious energy. Nick is so heavy against him, and his cock is primed for it already. He licks his lips, shifts his hips just slightly. 

"You’re sober, aren’t you?” Nick murmurs, stroking a curl off Harry’s face with two fingers. “Sure you don’t want to run away screaming?" 

How stupid. Harry laughs a little, open-mouthed, because he’s never wanted anything more in his  _life_. 

"You promised you’d kiss me again,” he says, instead, licking his lips again. Nick’s gaze rests like a tangible weight on Harry’s mouth. 

“Did nothing of the kind,” he says faintly, and then, contrarily, he leans down and does it anyway. 

His mouth tastes of sleep and spit and faint toothpaste- not entirely pleasant, but not horrible. 

“You taste of mouthwash,” he laughs softly, pulling back a little, and Harry doesn’t even bother with a response, he just tugs Nick down again. 

When he licks hot and deep into Nick’s mouth Nick lets out a groan from somewhere deep in his chest and tangles their tongues together. Nick’s such a good kisser. The feel of it goes right  _through_  Harry- from chest to toes. Makes a warm, lovely glow spread out from the bottom of his belly into each of his limbs. His stubble is scratching against Nick’s, and it’s massively, completely different from kissing a girl. 

When Nick tugs away, dark-eyed and breathing hard, Harry reaches up with one hand and feels around the edges of his own mouth. It feels hot and swollen and used. 

“Alright?” Nick asks, and Harry nods, dazedly. 

“S’good,” he says. “Do it again, please." 

"God,  _Harry_ ,” Nick breathes out, and kisses him again. 

Harry’s cock has been hard in a far-off way, throbbing pleasantly, sending little bursts of warmth into his gut, but when Nick shifts on top of him- slots against him - the feeling comes closer. He can feel it urgently now, and he- subtly, he thinks- fumbles his pants down his thighs. 

"Oh,” Nick says softly, leaning up and running his palm down Harry’s quivering stomach until he reaches the heavy weight of Harry’s erection. “Mm. You clearly need some attention." 

Harry would crack a joke but his brain is hovering somewhere around the ceiling, because Nick is folding his long, broad hand around Harry’s cock and giving him a slow tug. 

"F-fuck, Nick,” Harry gasps out, shoving his hips up. Nick laughs, his cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkling. He looks happy. 

“You’re so fantastically lovely,” he says, in the warm gravel of his voice. He thumbs Harry’s foreskin back in a way that makes Harry’s whole body shiver, uses the slick of Harry’s precome to ease the next glide of his palm down Harry’s cock. 

“Nick,” Harry murmurs, lying there and letting Nick touch him, feeling at once deliciously powerful and completely helpless to the pleasure. “Nick, god." 

"Quite nice, having you in my bed,” Nick says conversationally, even though his breath is short and his own cock is visibly hard in his pants. “Pretty thing." 

He smiles at Harry, fond and possessive, like Harry is some lovely object Nick intends to keep for always, and then ducks his head down and slides his mouth over the swollen head of Harry’s cock. 

Harry digs his head back into the bed, lets out a whimper between his clenched teeth. When he comes, moments later, it’s open-mouthed, half-laughing, in a way he never has before. His whole body feels lit-up and sparkling, and he reaches down as Nick swallows, puts his hand in Nick’s hair just to feel the warm texture of it against his fingertips. 

Nick comes up slowly, licking his lips obscenely and then kissing the flat of Harry’s belly, above his hipbone. 

Harry is still trembling. 

Nick kisses his mouth, thumbs sweat off Harry’s forehead, watching him with dark eyes. 

"Alright?” he says, measuredly, and Harry lets out a shudder of a laugh. 

“God,” he says, mind still shivering with it. “That was  _wicked_.” 

Oh. Not very eloquent. 

Nick cracks up laughing, falls over Harry sideways. 

"Good lord!” he chokes. “Wicked, popstar, really!" 

"Shut up,” Harry laughs, grabbing at Nick’s hip, and Nick rolls next to him and says, “Feel as if we’re in secondary and I just blew the star footballer in the boys’ changing rooms." 

"You’re mental,” Harry says, snorting, and Nick sticks out his tongue. 

“But I give wicked blowjobs, Harry Styles.  _Wicked,_ mate.” 

"Yeah, yeah,” Harry grumbles, tugging him closer. “Let’s see if I can’t shut you up." 

Nick lies on his back as Harry jerks him off, looking up at him with his t-shirt rucked up around his chest and his mouth still swollen from sucking cock. It’s just a wank, but it feels intimate. Nick won’t break eye contact, and Harry drinks in each signal of his body as he touches Nick’s cock- the small gasp, the hitch of breath in his throat, the slow, lazy blinks, and the way Nick licks his lips as he sighs open-mouthed. 

It feels like more. Feels like a lot. There’s a cock in Harry’s hand and a man beneath him, a proper man, and it feels bloody amazing. 

Nick comes with a choked moan, eyes closing, and Harry feels quite- peaceful about it, settled, as he leans down and kisses Nick’s slack mouth softly, Nick’s belly wet with come.

His mind wanders, to what they can do now that this bit’s over. He can suck Nick’s cock - put his mouth around the heavy weight he just had in his palm. Nick can wank him off properly. They can  _fuck_. Harry smiles into Nick’s mouth at the thought, a rush of excitement going down to his toes. 

Nick opens his eyes, scrunches his nose and shoves Harry’s hair back where it’s hanging down his forehead. 

"Hiya, popstar,” he says very quietly, and Harry grins down at him, at the long line of Nick’s warm body beneath him and the come all over his hand. Oh god, they have  _so much to do_. 

“Hi,” he says, and leans down into a kiss. 


End file.
